


Just the two of us

by TheKatlocker (TheKat79)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, Bottom Sherlock, First Date, First Kiss, First Time, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, Hurt/Comfort, Johnlock - Freeform, M/M, Nightmare, S4-fix-it, Scars, Top John
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-30
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-09-21 00:22:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 9
Words: 17,858
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9522734
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheKat79/pseuds/TheKatlocker
Summary: It has been months since the explosion has destroyed 221b. Months since they've built it back up together. But Sherlock was still living alone in a flat that felt far too empty. Until John shows up at his doorstep one late thursday evening, suitcase in his hand, hopeful expression on his face. They restart their life together, nothing keeping them apart anymore.The first days of their newfound relationship are full of love and affection, until John sees Sherlock's scars for the first time and a horrible nightmare threatens to throw Sherlock off track.(note: there's no baby Watson in this story)





	1. Quiet

It was a quiet evening in 221B, very quiet... too quiet. Sherlock was sitting in his armchair in his worn pyjamas and his favourite blue dressing gown. A cup of tea that had gone cold on the table beside him. Bare feet outstretched to the mantle where the dim light of a dying fire bathed everything in a soft orange tone.  
He was trying to read the chemistry book he had bought last week but he couldn't quite concentrate as his mind started wandering about everytime he started a new paragraph, or maybe it was the same paragraph over and over again. He didn't know, and he didn't really care because he was thinking of John again, always John, only John.  
He was wondering what he might be doing right now in his flat at the other end of town, if he felt as alone as Sherlock did, if John missed him as much as he did. He thought about sending a text, asking him to come over for a drink and maybe one of those tedious Bond movies John liked so much and took his mobile from the side table. But when he checked the time he saw that it was way past nine already so he dismissed the idea. John had work tomorrow and probably wasn't very keen on travelling trough town just for a drink and a movie this late in the evening. 

Sherlock gave up reading his book. There was noone else in the flat anyway, so no need to pretend he was reading, when there was no one to judge him. He steepled his hands under his chin and started thinking about the last months. When did everything start to go so terribly wrong? Was it the day Mary died while saving his life, leaving John behind, alone and broken? Or was it the day he shot Magnussen, or the day Mary shot him? Or did it all start much earlier, when he jumped off the roof of St. Barts and pretended to be dead for two years? He really didn't know. All he did know was that John has lost his wife months ago and although he had helped him to rebuild 221b he was still living in his own flat at the other end of town. They spend a lot of time together, most of their time infact when John wasn't working, or grocery shopping or any of the other tedious tasks that kept him away from Baker Street. They worked on cases together again like they had always done and they were closer than they ever had been. But he was still living alone. 

Sherlock had asked him to come back months ago and told him that the room in 221B would always be his. But for some reason John didn't move back in. Sherlock hated it. He was glad that he had so much of John back in his life, but it still didn't feel quite right. He wanted him here, more than anything. And he wanted so much more, but that was never going to happen. Their friendship had to be enough... it wasn't. 

He was just debating if he should make a new cup of tea or rather go to bed early and try not to think of John anymore when he heard the front door opening and closing. It couldn't be Mrs Hudson, she was in her flat, going by the muted sounds of her television coming through the ceiling. There was only one other person with keys to Baker Street and that was... His mind went blank for a moment while his heart started pounding erraticaly and he could hear the blood rushing in his ears. He tried to calm himself down to be able to listen for footsteps, but there weren't any.  
After what felt like an eternity he heard them, clearly John's footsteps but slow, so very slow, unsure. He walked to the foot of the stairs and stopped. Sherlock held his breath and waited, afraid that any sound coming from the flat could scare John away. Then he started up the 17 stairs with slow, somehow heavier steps than usually... as if he was carrying something heavy. He heard him go up to the landing and then pausing again. Waiting?  
Sherlock got out of his chair and walked to the door, stopping with his hand on the door knob, the wooden floor cold under his bare feet. He took a steadying breath and opened the door halfway through. 

There John was, standing on the landing with his favourite coat on, a suitcase in his left hand, clenching and unclenching his right hand nervously. Sherlock's mind started racing, trying to figure out what was happening. John was looking up at him with an expression he couldn't quite grasp. He seemed terribly unsure, afraid even, but there was also a hint of hope in his eyes. They were just standing there, looking at each other, neither saying a word. Then Sherlock took a step backwards, opening the door completely. An invitation.  
A little smile started around the corners of John's mouth and he started climbing the last stairs. Sherlock's heart started pounding erraticaly again but he tried not to show the nervousness creeping under his skin. Finally John stepped through the door into the living room of 221b and put down his suitcase beside the coffee table with a thump. He took another step into the room, looking around, as if he had never seen this place before.  
Sherlock closed the door behind him with a soft click and stepped carefully closer. All he wanted to do was wrap his arms around him and never let him go again, but he didn't dare. He started to bring his left hand up to John's shoulder, but when he realised that he was trembling he stopped himself, lowering his hand again. Right in this moment John turned around slowly and looked him in the eyes. There was a small smile on his lips. He still seemed nervous, but a bit calmer than before, now that he was back where he belonged. They started talking at the same time “John...” - “Sherl...”. Both huffed a small laugh, looking down to their feet, grinning. 

When they looked up again the tension between them was palpable.  
‘’I have no idea how to start.” John said, looking sheepishly.  
“Welcome home John.” said Sherlock, and somehow that seemed to be exactly what John needed to hear. He started smiling again, small at first but soon he had the biggest smile on his face that Sherlock had ever seen, his eyes shining brightly and so, so blue. “Thank you,” he said quietly.  
Sherlock smiled back, something unclenching in his chest. His hands fidgeting with the hem of his dressing gown and he had to look down again, still incredibly nervous.  
“Tea,” Sherlock exclaimed suddenly.  
“Sorry what?”  
“Tea, we need some. I'll make some... tea," and with that he rushed off to the kitchen.  
“Erm, okay... good,” John said, looking a bit sad. He took off his coat and shoes and went over to the mantle to rebuild the fire, while Sherlock filled the kettle, got two cups out of the cupboard and put teabags in them. When the kettle boiled he switched it off and filled both cups, nearly toppling one of them over with his trembling hands. As soon as the tea had steeped long enough he added milk to John's cup and milk and sugar to his own and brought both cups over to the armchairs where John had made himself comfortable in the meantime. He handed John his cup, who took it with a small smile and a nod. Sherlock sat down in his own chair and looked into his teacup, not able to look John in the eye just yet. 

John cleared his throat and took a sip of his tea.  
Sherlock asked very quietly “So how long are you planning to stay this time?” and looked carefully up through his lashes.  
He couldn't quite grasp the look on John's face. Surprised? Anxious? Hurt?  
John cleared his throat again. “I... I sold the house last week to a nice young couple and they want to move in as soon as possible, so... I thought of coming back for good... that is, if you want me back here?” he said warily.  
"Of course I want you here, John, that's all I ever wanted. It's just...” he trailed off.  
“Just what?”  
Sherlock looked down into his cup again, blushing.  
“Sherlock?” John put his cup on the side table and leaned forward in his chair.  
Sherlock looked up and stared into his eyes.  
“It's just that I don't know if I will survive it one more time if you ever let me down again.”

The shocked expression on John's face made him wince and he regretted the sharp tone immediately.  
John cleared his throat again, leaning his elbows on his knees, hands clenching into fists, exhaling heavily.  
“Sherlock listen... I... I made a lot of mistakes in my life, especially during the last years… but the biggest mistake that I have ever made was what I've done to you...”  
“John... ”  
“No Sherlock, please let me say this. The things I've done to you, how I treated you, how badly I've hurt you... I should have never done this. Any of it.”  
Sherlock opened his mouth, but John continued before he could say anything.  
“I know that you will find excuses for me. I've been grieving, I've been sad, I've been angry, but none of those things gave me the right to do what I've done to you."  
“John, it's okay...”  
“No, it's not okay! I am sorry Sherlock, truly sorry. And I hope that one day you can forgive me for everything I've done to you."  
John looked down to the floor, breathing hard, trying to calm himself down. Sherlock, feeling tears prickling behind his eyes put his own cup on the side table and leaned forward. He took John's hand, squeezing it lightly, rubbing his thumb over the back of John's hand "I already have, John."  
John looked up at this, tears in his eyes, a sad smile around his lips. Sherlock got up from his chair and tucked at John's hand, willing him to stand up with him. And when John did he wrapped him into a thight embrace, both hands on John's back, holding him as close as he dared to. Slowly he felt John relax in his arms, some of the tension drifting off his shoulders and John's arms coming around his back, his hands grabbing the silky material of his dressing gown, holding on tight.  
John hid his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck and started sobbing quietly.  
At this Sherlock couldn't hold his own tears back any longer and he cried silently with him, pressing his cheek to John's temple. They stood there for a long time, Sherlock running his hands up and down John's back in a soothing manner, John's hands still fisted into Sherlock's dressing gown, until they both started to calm down, listening to each other's heartbeats and the crackling of the fire beside them.  
“Thank you,” John whispered in the crook of his neck. And his warm breath against his skin sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine.  
Then John's left hand came up to Sherlock's neck, running his thumb along his hairline, his other hand coming around to Sherlock's chest, palm directly over his heart. While Sherlock's heartbeat started rising again, he let out a small gasp when he felt John's warm hands on his body.  
Sherlock turned his head just enough so that he could nuzzle the hair directly behind John's ear, pulling him even closer into his arms.  
The next thing he felt were John's lips against his neck, where he left the smallest of kisses on his skin. “John... ” Sherlock gasped and John drew back just enough so that he could look him in the eyes. The look on John's face was so full of tenderness and affection that it took Sherlock's breath away. He smiled at him and lowered his head, so that their foreheads were touching, their breaths mingling. Then he felt the hand that was still on the nape of his neck pulling him down until their lips were touching. John's lips soft, so very soft on his, as if asking for permission, just touching, not moving. And Sherlock opened his lips just slightly, moving slowly, permitting...


	2. Kisses

It started with a small kiss, then another one and another, just tiny pecks on the lips really. John's mouth felt softer than Sherlock had ever imagined it. John opened his lips just wide enough so he could touch Sherlock's lower lip with his tongue, tracing the seam of it. Then he did the same to his upper lip, until Sherlock opened his mouth and let him in. When their tongues touched for the first time it felt like an electric shock and his knees went weak. But John's strong arms came around him immediately, holding him up and whispering against his open mouth “I've got you! I'm here!”. With a little sigh Sherlock brought their mouths back together, clinging onto him like a drowning man. John's left hand wandered up into his curls, craddling his skull, holding him as if he was something precious and Sherlock made a desperate little sound that made him blush.  
John looked at him grinning “Hmm, seems like you like that," and he kissed him deeply. John's right hand ran up and down his spine until it stopped at the small of his back. Sherlock could feel the heat of John's hand through the two layers of clothes he was wearing.  
Sherlock ran his left hand up John's biceps and shoulder along his collarbone to his neck, caressing the soft skin just below his ear with his thumb. His other hand clenched in John's shirt at his lower back and held him close.  
They deepened the kiss, John exploring Sherlock's mouth with his tongue. Sherlock had imagined this scenario countless times. But nothing had prepared him for the feeling of John in his arms, his lips on his, his tongue in his mouth, his warm body enveloping him... It was devastating in the best way possible. 

After long minutes they broke apart gasping for air, but stayed close enough so that their breaths were mingling, breathing hard. Sherlock could feel John's hot breath all over his face and he smelled like tea.  
“I wanted this for so long," Sherlock whispered against John's mouth, closed his eyes and kissed him again, softly.  
This time John broke the kiss “How long?”  
“What?”  
“For how long did you want this?”  
“Probably since the day you shot that cabbie... But to be fair, I didn't recognize it for what it was until I've lost it,” Sherlock said. John's questioning look made him continue.  
“After I jumped off St. Barts and had to leave you behind...I... ” he said, trailing off, looking down with a sad smile.  
“Are you serious?” John asked with a baffled expression on his face.  
“Why wouldn't I be?” Sherlock looked up again.  
“Because I wanted it just as long... ” John told him quietly. For a minute neither said a word, they were just staring into each others eyes sadly.  
“We've lost so much time… we could have had this ages ago.” Sherlock whispered.  
“We are goddamned idiots,” John said quietly.  
“Then let's not waste any more time. Please," Sherlock cupped John's face with both hands, his long fingers caressing the hair behind John's ear and brought their mouths back together. 

Their kissing started to get more passionate, hands roaming over each other's bodies whereever they could reach.  
John slipped the dressing gown off his shoulders and it fell to the floor around his feet. He pulled Sherlock close again, hands running down his back until he reached the waistband of his pyjama pants. He let his hand slide under Sherlock's light gray, worn T-Shirt, caressing the skin at the small of his back. His hand was so very warm and Sherlock never wanted to loose the feeling of John's hands on his skin again. He pressed himself against John's body and gasped, “John,” when he felt John's erection against his thigh and John let out a soft moan at the sensation. His own erection pressing hard into John's belly, too much friction through the soft fabric of his pants and not enough at the same time. “Jesus Sherlock."  
John's left hand wandered from the small of his back down under the waistband of his pants and caressed the skin right above his buttocks with his fingertips and Sherlock couldn't wait to get more.  
He brought his hands to the top button of John's shirt and drew back to look him in the eye.  
“Is this okay?”  
“God yes," John breathed, “but... shouldn't we talk about that first?”  
“We waited long enough, don't you think?”  
“Definitely. But... ” he trailed off, blushing slightly.  
“John, I'm not a virgin, although it has been a long time. But there was no one ever worth it since I've been in uni. No one until I met you," John's resistance seemed to crumble already. ”And if I deduced correctly this is not your first time with a man either, am I right?”  
“Of course you are, you're always right you git,” John huffed, grinning coyly.  
“Than stop talking and start getting those clothes off.”  
“Alright, yes, God yes."  
And they crushed their mouths and bodies back together, pressing their pelvises against one another, rubbing against each other with growing desire.  
Sherlock unbuttoned John's shirt and slid it off his shoulders, eyes roaming in wonder over John's bare chest.  
“Like what you see?” John grinned.  
Sherlock grinned back and dipped his head, planting a soft kiss on the scar on John's left shoulder. He traced the lines of it with his tongue and sucked lightly.  
“Thank god for this scar,” he said quietly against John's shoulder.  
John looked a bit puzzled.  
“This is what brought you to me, into my life.”  
John's face lit up and he cupped Sherlock's left cheek with his hand, kissing his mouth, his jaw, along his neck to the soft spot below his ear. “Let's go to bed," he whispered into Sherlock's ear.  
Sherlock's heart started beating faster and his chest expanded, feeling a prickling in his belly.  
John took his hand and led him down the corridor to his bedroom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I decided to make a cut right before it gets explicit, you've been warned! Working on chapter 3 already.


	3. Chapter 3

John switched on the bedside lamp while Sherlock closed the door behind them carefully and looked down too his feet. Although this was exactly what he always wanted he was suddenly quite nervous.  
But wonderful John seemed to sense it and took him into his arms immediately. “Hey, it's alright,” he whispered into his ear and held him close, pressing a kiss to the side of Sherlock's neck, which calmed him down.  
He turned them around slowly and walked Sherlock backwards to the bed until his calfs bumped into the side of the bed.  
John let his hands travel down Sherlock's torso and stopped at the hem of his t-shirt, looking up. Sherlock stared into his eyes intensely and nodded slowly and John took off his T-shirt.  
Sherlock let himself fall backwards on the bed, looking up to John standing beside him. John remained standing and just looked at him for long seconds “God, you're gorgeous,” he breathed.  
He took his jeans and socks off in record time and crawled over him until he was laying flat on top of Sherlock, their bare torsos touching for the first time.  
The feeling was so exquisite that it took Sherlock's breath away for a second.  
Sherlock's hands came around John's back, he closed his eyes and kissed him. John's hands went up into his curls and he kissed his mouth, his forehead, along his jawline and down along the side of his neck. John slipped down his body and both men moaned at the sensation of their cocks sliding along each others. John took his time kissing his collarbone and his bare chest until he reached his left nipple. He traced it with his tongue and sucked lightly and Sherlock arched into the touch of John's mouth. He could feel John grinning against his skin before he sucked again.  
He went over to the other side and did the same to Sherlock's right nipple.  
Then he kissed further down and stopped at the scar right beside his heart. John looked at it for a long time and finally kissed it carefully. Sherlock craddled his face with both hands, forcing him to look up “It doesn't matter anymore John. Ancient history,” he said very calm.  
John smiled at him sadly but nodded, “okay.”

He took a deep steadying breath and kissed the scar one more time, then went on kissing down his belly, drawing soft moans from Sherlock who let his head fall back, closing his eyes. When he reached his pyjama pants he hooked too fingers under the waistband, looked up to and paused. Sherlock opened his eyes “God please don't stop John.”  
John grinned and yanked off Sherlock's pyjama pants, leaving him in his black, silky boxer briefs. John, kneeling between his legs, looked in wonder for a moment, then there appeared something predatory in his eyes and he dipped his head and ran his nose and cheek up and down Sherlock's hard cock. Sherlock wished he had pulled off his pants as well, but when John nuzzled in the crease between his tigh and his pelvis and inhaled deeply he forgot everything and arched his back, moaning deeply.  
John caressed his cock through his pants with his mouth, leaving wet spots on the fabric.  
Sherlock reached for John's head and strocked his hands through the silver grey hair.  
“For god's sake John, take those goddamned pants off, would you?”  
John grinned wickedly “If you insist,” hooked his fingers under the waistband and pulled slowly, oh so slowly, until Sherlock's cock sprang free, finally. He pulled his pants all the way down and threw them off the bed. John took his own pants off as well and lay down on his stomach in the vee of Sherlock's legs and dipped his head, planting tiny kisses along Sherlock's shaft. When he reached the tip he let his mouth linger and started sucking lightly, tracing his tongue around the glans. Sherlock moaned and started panting heavily. “God, John, please...”  
He didn't know what he was begging for, he just wanted John to never stop. He put his hands in John's hair again and when John took him in his mouth completely Sherlock's hands clenched in John's hair and he gasped. John made an approving sound around his cock and the vibrations sent shivers through his whole body. John started a slow rhythm up and down his cock and let his tongue slide around his shaft which made Sherlock start trembling. John increased the speed, bobbing his head up and down Sherlock's cock.  
“Please John stop, stop!” he said with a start. “If you go on like that I'll come in less than ten seconds." 

John grinned around his cock and let his mouth slide off slowly. When he reached the glans he sucked one last time and let Sherlock's cock spring free with a pop.  
Sherlock cupped his face with both hands. “Come up here," he whispered and John crawled up over Sherlock's body until he was flat on top of him, their naked skin touching from head to toe. They stared into each other's eyes, John's pupils blown wide, Sherlock's heart beating frantically, breathing hard and John kissed him again passionately.  
Then John started thrusting in a slow rhythm, letting their cocks slide against one another while his tongue explored Sherlock's mouth. Sherlock met John's rhythm with his own thrusts, squeezing his arse with both hands until they were both panting and had to stop kissing.  
“We need lube."  
“Top drawer,” Sherlock said and John leaned over, opening the drawer of his bedside table, searching around until he found what he was looking for.  
“Never knew if you did those things,” John grinned when he saw the half empty bottle in his hand.  
Sherlock rolled his eyes, “you are aware that I'm a man, aren't you?”  
“I've never been more aware of anything, since I just had your cock in my mouth,” John laughed.

He opened the bottle and squeezed a fair amount of lube in Sherlock's right hand. Sherlock reached between their bodies, took hold of John's cock and was rewarded with a deep moan. He squeezed lightly and started to stroke in a slow rhythm from the tip all the way down to the root and back up, going faster by the minute. John was breathing hard, his lips close to Sherlock's right ear, whispering sweet nothings. Sherlock's other hand reached around, squeezing and carressing John's arse again. “Please, together," John panted and Sherlock got the hint and took both their cocks into his hand and stroked firmly. John met his fast rhythm, thrusting rapidly into his hand, moaning into his ear and Sherlock thought it was the most beautiful sound he had ever heard.  
“God, I won't last much longer,” John panted.  
“Me neither," Sherlock gasped and with a few more strong strokes John came all over his stomach with a cry, “Sher... ”  
That was enough to send Sherlock over the edge as well, his back arched, he threw his head back with a long moan and his come splattered all over their torsos. John slumped down on him, his face in the crook of his neck, his breath hot on Sherlock's skin. Sherlock could feel John's heart beating frantically and brought his arms around John's back, holding him as close as he could with his limp arms.  
Their breathing calmed down slowly and John brought his hands back into Sherlock's curls. He raised his head and his eyes were full of affection. Sherlock smiled at him, hoping that John could see the same affection in his own eyes. John pressed kiss onto Sherlock's cheek.  
“I'll just get a flannel to clean us up a bit,” he whispered.  
Sherlock made a disapproving sound. “I don't care about the mess.”  
“But we'll get sticky pretty soon, I'm back in a tick.”  
Sherlock loosened his arms reluctantly and John got up and went to the bathroom. He heard the water running for a minute, John cleaning himself up probably. Sherlock suddenly felt tired and closed his eyes for a bit. He heard John coming back into the room, stopping in the door frame “Oi, who said you are aloud to fall asleep without me?” he asked with a grin.  
Sherlock opened one eye, “sex with you is exhausting, Dr. Watson,” he grinned.  
“Alright, let me just clean you up a bit and then we can fall asleep together.”  
Sherlock made an approving sound and closed his eyes again. John came over to the bed, sat beside him and cleaned his stomach with a wet flannel with tender strokes.  
When he was finished he tossed the flannel in the general direction of the bathroom, climbed over Sherlock to the other side of the bed and pulled the duvet over their bodies. He lay down on his side, one arm and leg thrown over Sherlock's body and nuzzled his face against Sherlock's neck. John inhaled deeply and hummed content.  
“John?” Sherlock asked sleepy.  
“Hmm?”  
“Can we do that again in the morning?”  
“Hmm, I'm planning to do much more than just that to you tomorrow," John grinned.  
“Oh?” Sherlock couldn't help but grin as well, "mm, but you have work tomorrow.”  
“Nope, I've swapped my shift with a colleague. Said that I needed to work on an important case with you, which would probably keep us up all night.”  
“And that wasn't even a lie," Sherlock grinned.  
“And since it's friday tomorrow I'm all yours for the next three days.”  
“I hoped you would be mine for the rest of my life actually.”  
When he recognized what he just said Sherlock started to panic, opening his eyes and looking at John, expecting horror in his eyes. But what he saw instead left him stunned. John had tears in his eyes and looked so tenderly into Sherlock's eyes that he thought his heart might explode in his chest every second.  
“I didn't dare to hope for that,” John whispered and hid his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock brought his arms around him and held him as tight as he could “I love you, John.”  
“I love you too, Sherlock," he whispered against his skin.  
Sherlock switched off the bedside lamp, closed his eyes again and started drifting off to sleep quickly. The last thing he recognized was John's warm hand caressing his chest, whispering “I love you” into his ear.


	4. Scars

Sherlock woke up in the middle of the night. The room was dark, the only light the glow of the streetlights outside. He felt warm and comfortable like never before in his life. John was still laying half on top of him, their legs tangled, one arm across Sherlock's bare chest. His face was pressed lightly into his neck, John's warm breath against his skin and he was snoring lightly. Sherlock thought that this was the most wonderful thing to wake up to, and he hoped that from now on John would be always by his side when he went to sleep at night and when he woke up in the morning. Sherlock sighed contently, closed his eyes and drifted back to sleep. 

The next time he woke up the room was bright from the sun shining through the window and the bed beside him was empty. For two seconds Sherlock panicked, wondering if everything had been just a dream. But when he looked around he saw John's jeans in a muddle on the floor beside his bed and relaxed. Not a dream then, thank god. He heard faint voices through the door, John and Mrs Hudson's and the clattering of dishes and smiled. He got up, went to the loo through the adjacent glass door, relieved himself and brushed his teeth. When he lay back on his back under the duvet Mrs Hudson's voice was gone and he could hear John's footsteps padding down the corridor. John opened the door, a tray in his hands and a big smile on his face. “Morning handsome," he beamed.  
Sherlock smiled back at him. “Morning,” and sat up against the headboard.  
John was wearing his blue dressing gown, which was far too long for him and his hair was a mess. Sherlock grinned at him. “You look ridiculous,” he said and thought that John had never looked as gorgeous as right at this moment.  
John came over, placed the tray with tea and toast with jam on his lap, kissed him on the lips and went around to the other side of the bed. He slipped off Sherlock's dressing gown, wearing only his dark blue boxer briefs underneath and slipped under the covers. He sat beside him against the headboard and they started drinking tea and eating toast.  
”I should warn you,” John said.  
“What about?”  
“Mrs Hudson might want to cuddle you later today.”  
”Hmm, why is that?”  
“She was a bit surprised when she came up with your morning tea and saw me in the kitchen instead. But when she realized that it was your dressing gown I was wearing she wasn't able to rub the grin off her face until she left the flat. I was afraid she might hurt herself with all that grinning,” John laughed.  
Sherlock smiled into his teacup. Good old Mrs Hudson was probably waiting for them to get together since the day John had moved in years ago.  
“And she has asked some very indiscreet questions, by the way.” Sherlock laughed.  
They chatted about this and that, joking and laughing, while they finished their tea and toast. Sherlock took the tray, bent down and put it on the floor beside the bed. When he turned back around John had gone completely still, a look of shock on his face.  
“John what's wrong?”  
“Your... your back... those scars...,” he said roughly.  
“Oh..., that's nothing John, forget about them."  
“Jesus are you kidding me?” he looked absolutely shocked. “Let me see, please.”  
“John…”  
“Please Sherlock,” John pleaded.  
Sherlock hesitated but slipped forward on the bed finally and bent down a bit. John moved over and sat down behind him, so that Sherlock was sitting in the vee of his legs. John traced the scars with his fingers.  
“These are torture marks,” he said very quietly, his voice nearly breaking. Sherlock knew that he meant the three worst ones he got in Serbia.  
He went on with his fingers. “There are multiple scars from a knife." The faint ones on his lower back he got in Russia a few months earlier, hardly visible anymore.  
“And there's a scar from a bullet.” John's fingers traced over it lightly. The one right below his last rib on the right side, just a graze shot really.  
“People have a tendency to shoot at me for some reason, probably because I piss them off.” Sherlock said, trying to brighten the mood a bit.  
“Not funny Sherlock.”  
Sherlock winced when he recognized that this included John's dead wife and his hand went to the bullet scar on his chest.  
“I'm sorry John, I didn't mean... ”  
“It's fine” he said. “When did you get them?”  
“While I was playing hide and seek in eastern Europe for two years.”  
John exhaled loudly. “Two of the big ones... they look like they were torn open while healing.”  
“Yes” Sherlock said sheepishly.  
“When did you get them?”  
Sherlock remained silent.  
“When?... Sherlock?”  
“About three days before I crashed your proposal to Mary,” Sherlock said very quiet.  
John gasped “I tackled you and threw you to the floor that night. This is my fault!” John said in horror.  
“John, you couldn't know."  
“That's not an excuse. My best friend came back from the dead and instead of hugging him and telling him how much I've missed him I've hurt him even further.”  
“You had every right, John.”  
”I really hadn't. I'm so sorry Sherlock.”  
“John, I told you it's fine.”

John shook his head. “Why didn't you tell me?”  
“What difference would it have made?”  
John exhaled heavily.   
“Sherlock... ” he bent his head and leaned his forehead against Sherlock's right shoulder, his arms came around Sherlock's waist and he pulled him close. Sherlock layed his hands on top of John's on his stomach and intertwined their fingers. Sherlock turned his head and whispered, “I love you John. Please don't be upset. Those things have happened long ago. I never think about them anymore.”  
“Do you have nightmares?” John asked quietly.  
“What?”  
“You heard me.”  
Sherlock hesitated, “sometimes.”  
John was quiet for a long time, then he exhaled shakily.   
“I wish I would have been there with you. I would have never let that happen.”  
“John, if you would have been there with me you probably would be dead now. Moriarty's men would have killed you. That's why I couldn't tell you anything back then. I would have never risked your life John. Never!”

John pulled him even closer and kissed the scar on his shoulder blade. “After you killed Magnussen... they wanted to send you back there, right?”  
“Yes.”  
“That's why you tried to kill yourself on the plane.” It wasn't a question.  
“I was afraid John. Mycroft's estimation was that this mission would be fatal in six months at most. I thought this would be a more gentle way to die.”  
“How could he do that to you? He's your brother for god's sake!”  
“Because he knew that I wouldn't survive being imprisoned for much longer. That was his version of a gentler death. At least I would have had a chance to escape.”  
John huffed a breath and kissed the scar again, tears in his eyes. He traced it with his tongue and kissed and caressed it tenderly. Sherlock breathed softly and closed his eyes, tightening the grip around John's fingers. Noone has ever been so gentle with him.  
John kissed along his shoulder blade to the nape of his neck and around to the soft spot under his ear and whispered, “lay down on your stomach.”  
Sherlock complied willingly. He let go of John's hands and slipped up the bed until his head was placed on the pillows. He took the duvet with him to cover his back but John pulled it down gently to the small of his back. He straddled him, his knees right and left beside his arse and bent down to kiss and caress the scar on his shoulder again. Then he went down to the one between his shoulder blades and gave it the same tender attention. When he seemed to be satisfied with that one he went further down to the one on his left side above his hipbone. Sherlock was breathing harder already and his cock, pressed between his stomach and the mattress twitched in anticipation. When John was finished with the three biggest scars he traced every little knife scar with his tongue and at last he took care of the bullet scar on his lower back. Sherlock was moaning softly at each touch of John's mouth and tongue.  
John hooked his hand under his right shoulder and made him turn around. He pulled the duvet off Sherlock's body completely and when Sherlock opened his eyes he saw that John had tears in his eyes. He sat up immediately and pulled him into his arms kissing his temple, stroking one hand through John's hair. “Thank you” he whispered into John's ear. He held him close for long minutes and when he felt John relax in his arms he drew back, looked him in the eyes and kissed him passionately. Sherlock lay back down and pulled John with him until he was flat on top of him. He traced his hands down along John's sides and hooked two fingers into the waistband of his pants and pushed them down as far as he could reach. John leaned back to pull them off completely and when he lay back on top of him their bare cocks touched and they both moaned.  
“Sherlock?”  
“Hmm?”  
“I want to make love to you,” he whispered into Sherlock's ear.  
“God yes.”  
They kissed again until they both gasped for air and were thrusting against each other in a lazy rhythm, their cocks twitching. John got the bottle of lube out of the drawer and coated his left hand. He lay down beside Sherlock and took hold of Sherlock's cock, stroking it slowly. Then he let his hand wander deeper to his balls, fondling them tenderly and further back over his perineum to the puckered skin around Sherlock's entrance. He pressed lightly against the skin and looked into Sherlock's eyes questioning. Sherlock smiled at him and nodded slowly. At that John kissed Sherlock deeply and pressed one finger into his body very carefully. He pressed further until the first nuckle went in. Sherlock, already panting, ran his left hand up into John's hair, gripping firmly. His other hand clenched in the sheets beside him.  
John went on carefully until the second nuckle went in and further until his forefinger was buried deep inside Sherlock's body. Sherlock arched his back and moaned at the sensation and John kissed him again.  
He pulled his finger out and pushed back in slowly until Sherlock's body opened up enough to put a second finger in.  
Sherlock was panting fast, his hand gripping John's hair. John opened him up carefully until three fingers went in and out easily.  
“Sherlock?”  
Sherlock opened his eyes and looked at him, panting hard.  
“Condoms?”  
“I got tested when I was in hospital and have been clean ever since.”  
“I took my last test after Mary died," John answered, swallowing hard. Sherlock embraced him and kissed him tenderly. “Please, I've never wanted anything as much as this, John. I want to feel you.”  
John looked into his eyes and nodded. He took the lube, put a fair amount into his hand and coated his twitching cock. He rolled onto Sherlock and placed his cock at his entrance, pressing lightly against the skin. They looked into each others eyes intensely and John started to press in slowly. Sherlock threw his head back, closed his eyes and moaned deeply. John pressed in carefully until he was completely seated and stayed still, breathing hard, giving Sherlock time to adjust to his cock.  
He kissed Sherlock's neck, chin, cheeks, lips, everywhere he could reach. And when Sherlock opened his eyes again he started thrusting slowly. Both moaned at the sensation and smiled at each other. They found a slow rhythm, Sherlock meeting his thrusts with his own until they were both panting hard.  
John started thrusting faster by the minute and Sherlock followed his lead with the same enthusiasm.  
“Please touch yourself Sherlock, I'm not going to last much longer...” John panted into his ear.  
Sherlock complied and reached between their bodies. He started stroking his own cock frantically, precome already dripping off it and it took just a few firm strokes until he came all over hist chest and stomach with a cry. “Johnnnn... ”  
Sherlock's clenching body around John's cock and the sounds he made when he came were enough to send John over the edge too. He came hard inside Sherlock's body with loud moans, burying his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck. 

They lay together until their heartbeats started calming down, and when John's cock started to soften he pulled out slowly, making Sherlock gasp. He kissed Sherlock deeply and stroked his hair before he rolled off him and cleaned both of them as best as he could with a corner of the sheets.  
Sherlock turned onto his side, moving John with him, spooning him. He brought his right arm around John's waist, John entwining their fingers immediately. Sherlock nuzzled the hair at the nape of John's neck and pressed soft kisses on his skin, John humming in appreciation. They fell asleep together in the middle of the morning, the sun shining brightly through the window.


	5. Lazy Day

Sherlock woke up when John was stirring in his arms about an hour later. He pulled him closer and nuzzled in the hair right above John`s neck, planting small kisses on his neck and right shoulder. John hummed in appreciation. He shifted and turned around until they were both laying on their sides facing each other. They started kissing lazily, their hands roaming over each others bodies slowly.  
“Never imagined you as a cuddler Sherlock Holmes.” Sherlock made a humming noise. “So you did imagine something like this before?”  
“Hundreds of times,” John grinned. ”Maybe I should change your name on the blog,” he said in between kisses.  
“Into what?” Another kiss.  
“Consulting Cuddler,” John giggled.  
Sherlock stopped him with a passionate kiss. 

“So, any plans for today?” John asked.  
“Hmm, I thought about a lazy day with a handsome army doctor.”  
“Oh, do I know him? Is he nice?” John grinned.  
“Yeah, pretty nice fellow, I think you'll get along splendidly," Sherlock grinned back.  
Sherlock went silent for a minute. “What do you think about going out tonight?”  
“Did you have anything specific in mind?” John asked.  
“Dinner at Angelo`s?”  
“Hmm, sounds perfect,” John smiled.  
“I`ll make a reservation then.”  
“Tell Angelo to put a candle on the table," John said, smiling.  
Sherlock smiled back and kissed him again.

They shifted a bit.   
“I feel awfully sticky," Sherlock said.  
“Me too, shower?”  
“Yes… do we have to get up for that?” Sherlock furrowed his brows.  
“I suppose," John answered.  
“Pity,” Sherlock grinned and kissed John on the nose.

They got up, padded into the bathroom stark naked and John turned the shower on.  
“Did you want to go first?” John asked a bit sheepish.  
“I wasn't planning on going alone,” Sherlock grinned.  
John smiled and stepped into the cubicle, facing the wall, Sherlock directly behind him, closed the curtain. Sherlock pulled him back against his body so that John could stand under the spray and took his bottle of shampoo. He put some of it onto his hand and started massaging it into John´s hair.  
“You don´t have to…,” John started but gave in to the sensation quickly. Sherlock massaged his scalped tenderly, John leaning back into his body, humming contently.  
When he was done he let John rinse his hair and took his body wash. He started washing John´s back with soft strokes, massaged his arse cheeks intensely and whispered into his ear, “turn around.”  
John complied, his eyes closed and leaned his forehead against Sherlock´s shoulder, breathing a bit faster than usually. Sherlock put some more body wash onto his hands and started washing John´s chest and stomach, down to his cock, which seemed to be quite interested already, stroking it slowly, fondling his balls. John was breathing harder by the minute.  
He placed his hands on John's shoulders, pushed him softly back against the wall and kneeled down in front of him. He washed John´s legs and feet, making sure to rinse them properly before he put them down again, so that John wouldn´t slip and looked up. It took a few seconds until John opened his eyes and looked down. Sherlock, with a wicked grin, leaned in slowly and took John's half hard cock into his mouth. John groaned at the sensation, closed his eyes and let his head fall backwards, until it reached the wall with a thump.  
Sherlock held John's cock with his left hand and licked a long strip from the base up to the tip, John hardening further already. He suckled at the tip, ran his tongue around it, drawing soft moans from John. Then he took him in completely, which John rewarded with a loud groan. “Fuck, Sherlock!”  
He was breathing hard when Sherlock started a slow rhythm. Every time he reached the glans hew drew his tongue around it and licked over the slit, precome dripping out already. John ran both hands into Sherlock's curls and digged his fingers into his scull.  
Sherlock started sucking him in earnest now, bopping his head up and down quickly holding his cock at the base. John moaned loudly and slumped down the wall a bit. His hands in Sherlock's scalp cramped and he met Sherlock's sucks with little thrusts. After two more minutes he tried to pull Sherlock away. "Sherlock, I'm... ” But Sherlock stayed where he was and John was coming hard in his mouth with a long groan. Sherlock swallowed as much as he could, tasting John on his tongue. John's knees went weak but Sherlock caught him and held him up. Sherlock licked him clean while John was panting hard, loosening the tight grip in Sherlock's hair slowly. When he came back to himself he opened his eyes and looked down at Sherlock. “Come up here,” his voice full of affection.  
Sherlock got up and kissed him passionately. John brought his arms around him, holding him close. 

He drew back a little to look Sherlock in the eye. "That was phenomenal. Is there anything you're not brilliant at?” Sherlock smiled at him and buried his face in the crook of John's neck peppering it with small kisses. They stood there for a minute, holding each other until John whispered into his ear. “Your turn.” He took the shampoo bottle, poured some onto his hand and started massaging Sherlock's scalp. Sherlock, hard as a rod already, started breathing faster. He loved John's hands in his curls and his cock twitched and bumped against John's belly at the sensation of soft strokes through his hair. John went on washing his back while kissing him passionately, pressing his body into Sherlock's. He turned them so that Sherlock's back was against the wall. “Turn around.”  
Sherlock did, bracing his hands against the wall. John reached around him, washing his chest and belly tenderly, down to his cock and back to his arse. He kneeled down behind Sherlock to wash his legs and feet. When he was finished he pulled Sherlock's arse cheeks apart tenderly and kissed around his hole, Sherlock breathing hard. Then he traced his tongue around the puckered skin, drawing a deep moan from Sherlock's lips. He placed his tongue directly over his entrance and pushed the tip in making Sherlock tremble. He pulled at Sherlock's legs until he spread them further apart and reached around with one hand, to take hold of Sherlock's cock. He pushed his tongue in and out slowly and stroked him firmly. Sherlock was trembling and panting. He thrusted into the circle of John's hand and back against his tongue in his arse and it didn't take much until he spurted all over the wall, coming with a loud groan, John's name on his lips. John stroked him through his orgasm and when Sherlock started to soften in his hand he got up and held him from behind.  
Sherlock turned around and slumped into his arms, still panting. They remained there, John stroking his back and kissing his neck and collar bone, until the water ran cold.  
John drew back, kissed his lips and turned off the shower. They got out, John taking a towel to dry Sherlock off and Sherlock doing the same to him, neither saying a word, just smiling at each other. Sherlock put fresh pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt on and John went to fetch some sweatpants and a T-shirt from his suitcase in the living room. 

When he was dressed John went to the kitchen and made tea and carried the cups over to the coffee table in front of the sofa. He just wanted to take his suitcase upstairs when Sherlock came into the room. “What are you doing?”  
“Just wanted to bring my suitcase to my room.”  
“This way," Sherlock took his free hand and led him down the corridor to his own bedroom. He opened the doors of the wardrobe where he had already made room for John's clothes. Then he opened one drawer of the dresser which was empty as well and looked at John a bit shyly. “Our room now,” he said quietly and smiled. John smiled back and nodded, putting his suitcase down on the bed and started unpacking his clothes. Sherlock watched him intently until he was finished. Then he took his hand again and they went back into the living room.  
They settled on the sofa together, switched the telly on and decided to watch a game show. After a minute Sherlock lay back on the sofa and pulled John on top of him. They lay there cuddling and kissing until they heard footsteps on the stairs. 

“Wohoo,” Mrs Hudson called from the top of the stairs. “I hope you boys are dressed and decent!”  
“Dressed yes, decent no, but come in anyway,” Sherlock called and Mrs Hudson opened the door, a cake in her hand. When she saw them cuddling on the sofa she was all smiles, clutching her free hand to her chest. Sherlock and John got up, took the cake from her and she hugged them both tightly. “I'm so happy for you boys!”  
They settled down with tea and cake and chatted for a while. Mrs Hudson beaming at them the whole time. When she went back downstairs later on John and Sherlock settled in their armchairs, their feet tangled between them, reading the papers until it was time to get ready for the evening. 

Sherlock went to his room to get dressed. John did the same in the bathroom. Sherlock decided to wear a dark blue shirt and his newest black suit, the one that fitted perfectly around his arse. He groomed his hair until he was satisfied, which took quite some time and opened the door.  
John was standing beside the kitchen table in a dark grey suit Sherlock had never seen on him before. The trousers fitted him perfectly. Underneath he was wearing a light grey shirt and a black tie. His longer hair styled perfectly. He looked perfect and it took Sherlock´s breath away for a second.  
He smiled at him and walked along the corridor into the kitchen, John looking at him in wonder. “God, look at you. I really don´t know why you chose me of all people, you could have anyone.”  
“I don´t want anyone, John, I only ever wanted you.” Sherlock stepped into his space, cradled his face and kissed him deeply.  
“Ready?” Sherlock asked, when his phone started ringing on the kitchen table. John leaned over to grab it. “It´s Lestrade,” he said and his shoulders slumped slightly.  
“Put him on speaker,” Sherlock said, and John did.  
“Hello Gavin, what is it?”  
“Hi Sherlock and it's Greg” Lestrade answered.  
“I know,” Sherlock said grinning and John grinned back at him.  
“Listen, I have a murder case in Lauriston Gardens that you might be interested in,” Greg said.  
“Sorry Greg, not tonight,” Sherlock answered and he saw a shimmer of hope coming back to John`s eyes.  
“I haven´t told you the best part yet. It´s a double murder, two sisters and we have no clue what happened so far.”  
Sherlock saw the moment John gave up hope in his eyes, disappointment clearly visible all over his face when he turned his head down. He brought his hand up to his neck to loosen the knot of his tie. Sherlock laid his hand on top of his to stop him.  
“Sorry Greg, I have a dinner reservation tonight.”  
John looked up at him in astonishment, not believing what he was hearing.  
“Who the hell is more important than a double murder?" Greg exclaimed.  
“It´s John," Sherlock said simply, seeing the smile lighting up John´s face.  
“Hang on, you mean... like a proper date?” Greg was baffled.  
“Exactly,” Sherlock said.  
There was silence at the other end of the line for a few seconds. “About bloody time, you bastard! Tell him my best wishes and make it worth for him.”  
“I will," Sherlock smiled at John who was looking up into his eyes in wonder.  
“Can I call you if we don´t have a lead until Monday morning?” Greg asked.  
“Of course,” Sherlock said and ended the call.

“Sherlock, you didn´t have to do that. I know how important the work is for you,” John's voice a bit rough.  
“Not more important than you, John." Sherlock kissed him and refastened John's tie.  
“So, ready now?” Sherlock asked.  
“Oh god yes!” John chuckled.


	6. First date

They went through the kitchen door, put their coats and scarfs on and went down the stairs, Sherlock leading, John following right behind him. They walked along the corridor to the front door. Sherlock lay his hand on the door knob and stopped. He turned around and looked into John's eyes intensely.  
“What's wrong,” John asked, a bit worried.  
“I forgot something,” Sherlock said.  
“What is it? I can go back up and get it,” John offered.  
Sherlock stepped into his space and let his voice drop an octave. “I forgot to tell you how handsome you look tonight.”  
John didn't know what to say, so instead he pulled Sherlock down into a passionate kiss.  
Sherlock leaned against him, his mouth wandering to John's ear. ”This suit looks damn good on you and I can't wait to take it off you when we come back...,” Sherlock murmured with a spark in his eyes.  
John closed his eyes briefly and took a steadying breath, then opened his eyes again, his pupils blown wide. “If you don't open this bloody door within the next five seconds I swear we'll never make it to the restaurant.”  
Sherlock grinned, turned around and opened the door. He stepped into the cold air of the winter night, burying his hands deep in his coat pockets, John following right behind him. 

They walked side by side for a few steps in silence. Then Sherlock took his hand out of his pocket and slipped it into John's, who intertwined their fingers immediately, squeezing Sherlock's hand. Sherlock rubbed little circles into John's skin with his thumb. He glanced at John sideways and saw him smiling with an expression he couldn't quite grasp.  
“What is it?” Sherlock wanted to know.  
“Nothing... I'm just learning a couple of new things about you... ”  
Sherlock frowned.  
“Cuddling in bed, snogging on the sofa, hand holding in public,” John explained and smiled at him.  
“And that is good?” Sherlock blushed and furrowed his brows even deeper.  
“Yes it is. Just a bit unexpected is all,” John nudged him with his elbow playfully. Sherlock made a humming noise, a bit nervous for what was to come. They went the rest of the way in silence, holding hands, each in his own thoughts. 

When they arrived at the restaurant Angelo was already waiting for them at the door. He greeted them with a huge smile, slapping Sherlock's shoulder and gave him a knowing look. Angelo led them to their usual table at the window and took their coats away. Sure enough there was a candle on the table, and also a single red rose and a bottle of champagne in a bottle cooler.  
“Looks like Angelo has brought out the full range tonight,” John said amused. Sherlock looked down, blushing, shuffling his feet.  
“That was your doing," John grinned. It wasn't a question.  
Sherlock looked up through his lashes. “Too much?” he asked sheepishly.  
“No, not at all. It's perfect Sherlock. Just not used to being the one that's been spoiled,” John smiled and gave him a peck on the cheek.  
“Come on, let's sit down, there's champagne waiting,” John said. Sherlock exhaled and sat down. John took the bottle and filled their glasses. They clinked them, took a sip of the cool liquid and put the glasses down. Sherlock couldn't keep his fingers still and looked down on the table, visibly nervous.  
“Hey, it's just you and me Sherlock, no reason to be nervous.” John took his hand and squeezed.  
“I know. It's just...,” he trailed off.  
“Tell me," John said, moving closer to the corner so that their knees were touching. Sherlock kept silent for a long minute, then took a deep breath and it came out in one rush. “I've never had a proper date and don't really know what is expected.” He was still not looking at John.  
John hooked his forefinger under Sherlock's chin and forced him too look up. “Sherlock, nothing is expected of you. It's just the two of us out for dinner. We did that hundreds of times before.”  
“But it's not quite the same, is it?” Sherlock said very quiet.  
John's eyes got soft, he cradled Sherlock's cheek with his free hand and kissed him tenderly. “You're doing great, Sherlock. This is all I ever wanted, you and me together and there's nothing you could do tonight that could ever change that,” John said firmly.  
“Oh, I'm sure there are one or two things," Sherlock grinned and when he heard John's chuckling he relaxed. 

Angelo came over to their table. “So, I've put together a little something for you boys, no ordering from the menu tonight, okay. And this evening is on the house of course," he beamed.  
“Thank you Angelo,” they answered in unison, smiling at him.  
Billy came over with a large plate of classic antipasti and too forks. There were bruschetti with tomatoes and basil, marinated vegetables and parma ham with melon. They started eating and chatting and smiled at each other over their forks.  
The second course were fettuccine with prawns and Angelo brought a fruity white wine to go with it.  
They ate in companionable silence until Billy cleared the table from their empty dishes. They ordered a heavy red wine afterwards, clinked their glasses again and looked deeply into each other's eyes while taking a sip.  
Sherlock put his glass down and slipped around the corner of the table to sit right beside John. He sneaked his right arm around his shoulders, dropped his left hand to John's knee and pressed the side of his thigh against John's. Sherlock turned his head to whisper into his ear in his deep baritone. “I have quite a few ideas for dessert.”  
The vibrations of his voice went directly to John's groin and he closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Sherlock nuzzled his neck, breathing him in and letting his hot breath brush over John's skin. John clenched his right hand on the table and placed his left one on Sherlock's leg, mid thigh, squeezing hard. Sherlock let his right hand wander upwards and down again, in a torturing rhythm, all the while whispering sweet nothings into John's ear.  
“Stop it,” John hissed, “or I won't be able to leave this bloody restaurant with you.”  
Sherlock grinned wickedly, left one last kiss on John's neck, right at his pulse point and slipped back to his own seat. 

Billy came to bring two plates with panna cotta and they ate in silence looking deep into each other's eyes in between. When they had finished they thanked Angelo, who brought back their coats and scarfs and left the restaurant. It was even colder outside then on the way there and it had started drizzling. Sherlock placed his arm around John's shoulders and held him as close as possible on the walk back and he felt John's arm sneaking around his waist shortly after.  
Sherlock caressed the soft skin on the side of John's neck with his thumb and pressed a soft kiss to his temple. When they passed a side alley John pulled him by the waist and pressed him against the wall of the nearest house. He sneaked his hand into Sherlock's now damp curls right above the nape of his neck and pulled his head down in a firm grip. John kissed him passionately, his tongue invading his mouth forcefully, which made Sherlock moan.  
John pressed his body into him, moving a leg between his thighs, so that Sherlock could feel John's very interested cock against his upper thigh despite all those layers of clothes. That sent a shiver down Sherlock's spine and his own, no less interested, cock twitched in his tight pants, both of them panting heavily.  
“Home! Now!” John groaled.  
He took Sherlock's hand and pulled him out of the alley back to the main road. Sherlock was thankfull for the long coats they were wearing and smirked.  
They made it back to Baker Street in record time, Sherlock fumbling with his keys until he finally got the door open. John closed it behind them and pressed up against Sherlock, pressing him into the wall, continuing what he started in the alley. John worked Sherlock's coat and jacket buttons open and started with his shirt, Sherlock doing the same to John, until all layers between them were pushed aside, their bare torsos touching, their groins thrusting against one anothers. They were kissing frantically, breathing hard, until Mrs Hudson opened her door to her flat.  
“Boys, not that I don't enjoy the show,” she said smirking, one eyebrow drawn up, her arms crossed over her chest, “but I'd rather you do that upstairs in your own flat.”  
“If we must,” Sherlock rolled his eyes.  
“Sorry Mrs Hudson," John chuckled, seized Sherlock by the collar and pulled him up the stairs. 

They threw their coats over the railing and got rid of their jackets and John's tie while stumbling through the door into the kitchen. John threw the door closed with a predatory look in his eyes, his pupils blown wide and backed Sherlock up against the kitchen door, pulling him down into a hungry kiss. Sherlock slipped John's shirt off his shoulders and started fumbling with his belt while John kissed along his jaw line, down his neck, biting his collar bone.  
Sherlock opened the button of John's trowsers and pulled the zipper down. When he pushed his hand inside his pants and took hold of John's hard cock he drew a deep groan out of his mouth.  
“Fuck Sherlock this is not going to take long,” John panted.  
“Obviously. You've been hard as a rod ever since I placed my hand on your knee at the restaurant," Sherlock smirked wickedly.  
“Sassy bastard," John groaned and kissed the wicked grin right off his lips. He opened Sherlock's trousers and pushed pants and trousers down to his knees. Then pulled his own pants and trowsers down. Sherlock slipped down the wall a bit to line up their cocks and wrapped his hand around the both of them. He started stroking frantically and wrapped his other hand around the back of John's head to pull him into a messy kiss. It just took a few more strokes for John to come all over their naked torsos with a long groan. “Oh fuck, Sherlock!”  
Sherlock let go of his own cock and stroked John through his orgasm. John panting hard, slumped against his body and hid his face in the crook of Sherlock's neck. Sherlock wrapped both arms around him and held him up while he felt John's hot breath against his neck. 

When his breathing started calming down John kissed Sherlock's neck and slipped down onto his knees, looked up into Sherlock's eyes and swallowed him down completely in one go. Sherlock groaned his name, let his eyes fall closed and his head back against the door. John sucked him off in earnest and it didn't take much until Sherlock felt his orgasm building. He shoved his left hand into John's hair and tried to pull him off, his right hand clutching the door knob, but John didn't let go. He tried to warn him. “John,” but it was too late. He came hard down John's throat with a low rumble, John swallowing as best as he could.  
“Shit, I'm sorry,” Sherlock panted. His knees gave in and he slumped to the floor, breathing heavily. John caught him when he came down, kneeling in the vee between Sherlock's legs. John pulled him close, kissed him tenderly and Sherlock could taste himself on John's lips. 

When his breathing went back to normal John drew back a little. “Let's go to bed," he whispered.  
He got rid of his shoes, socks, trowsers and pants and helped Sherlock do the same. Then he helped him up and slipped Sherlock's shirt off his shoulders. They intertwined their hands and went down the corridor to the bedroom. Once inside they slipped under the covers together, snuggled into each others arms and started snogging lazily until their lids felt heavy and they drifted off to sleep.


	7. Nightmare

Sherlock opened his eyes, it was dark and cold, the air was humid, he could hear water dropping on stone. Where was he? He tried to move but something was wrong with his arms. He looked over his left arm. It was strechted out beside him and there was a chain that went from his wrist to the wall to his left. He turned his head around to the other side. His right arm was chained up the same way.  
He looked up. The room he was in looked like a dungeon, something straight out of a horror movie, rough stone walls on all four sides, just slightly lit, the stoney floor under his bare feet wet and ice cold.  
He looked down at himself. He was standing in the middle of the room, his arms chained to the walls his bare torso bent over, filthy sweatpants around his legs.  
He heard voices, very faint and then heavy footsteps. Military boots, one person only. There was a scratching noise and then the heavy door was opened. It was too dark to see a face, he could just see the outline of a tall man, very muscular, stepping closer. A man like a cabinet, bald head. He looked down at Sherlock, spitted on the floor and said something Sherlock didn't understand. Some eastern european language, Sherlock thought.  
There was something in his left hand, some iron bar.  
It seemed like he asked something but Sherlock didn't understand what it was. Suddenly the guy hit him in the face with his bare hand. His head fell to the side. Another hit that split his lower lip, the fist this time, his nose started bleeding, blood dripping to the floor. He couldn't breathe through his nose anymore. The guy moved around, standing behind him, shouting at him, apparently still asking questions. The next thing he felt was a blow to his bare back with the iron bar. He screamed and felt his skin ripping. Another blow on the back and another. 

The guy was in front of him again, shouting. What was he shouting? That was english!  
“Is this a game? Just a bloody game?”  
That was John's voice. Why was it John's voice?   
He whimpered John's name and looked up. John was standing in front of him, blue jacket, chequered shirt, blue jeans. The look in his eyes was full of hatred. He took a big swing and hit Sherlock hard in the face. He fell to the floor. How was that possible, he was chained up. He looked around, he wasn't in the dungeon anymore, this looked like a morgue.  
He heard John shouting at him and then another hit to his head with his fist and another and another. Sherlock's vision got blurry, he could see blood dripping to the floor. He tried to say John's name. Why was he beating him up? John always used to protect him, against everyone and everything. WHY?  
John said his name, very quiet. Why so quiet? He had just shouted at him seconds ago. “Sherlock... Sherlock... ”  
Then he felt a hard kick to his gut and another and another. He screamed in horror ”Jooohhhhnnnnn.”

Sherlock sat up, opened his eyes, he was screaming... Where was he? It was dark. Faint light of streetlamps through the window.  
“Sherlock...?” John's voice, still so quiet.  
He was in his bedroom, sitting on his bed, it was night. He was breathing hard, heart beating frantically, blood rushing in his ears, cold sweat all over his body, sheets across his bare legs. A nightmare then.  
“Sherlock.” John sitting beside him, at a distance, not daring to touch him. Sherlock tried to calm his breathing down.  
“It was a nightmare Sherlock, you're home and safe. I'm here.” John's voice so soft. How can it be so soft after what just happened? But it didn't happen just now, it happened months ago. 

He turned his head, looked at John. Sincere concern written all over his face.  
“Sherlock, it's over. I'm here.” John reached out one hand to touch his shoulder. When Sherlock flinched at the contact he withdrew his hand again. Sherlock bent his head, brought his hands up to the sides of his head, clenched his fists into his hair and started sobbing.  
John crawled around to kneel between his legs. He reached out again to touch Sherlock's shoulder and this time Sherlock didn't flinch. John's other hand reached out to his head, trying to ease Sherlock's death grip in his own hair. Sherlock leaned into the touch just slightly and looked up. That was all John needed. He shifted, so that he was sitting right in front of Sherlock, John's legs left and right besides Sherlock's body on the bed. He pulled Sherlock into his arms and held him tight. John's hands stroking up and down his bare back, shushing noises into Sherlock's ear.  
Sherlock released his hands and brought his arms around John's waist. He hid his face in the crook of John's neck and cried, and cried. John brought one hand up into his hair, stroking tenderly. Sherlock started to calm down, his breathing and heartbeat going back to normal, tears running dry. John whispered into his ear, stroked his hair and bare back and swayed him lightly. 

Finally Sherlock loosened his arms and drew back, his head bent down. John cradled his face with both hands and pressed a kiss to his forehead.  
“I love you Sherlock,” he whispered.  
Sherlock retracted himself from John's arms to get out of bed. He went over to the dresser and put pants, pyjama bottoms and a T-shirt on and went to the door to fetch his dressing gown.  
“What are you doing?” John asked carefully.  
“Not going to sleep again tonight,” Sherlock said quietly, head bent, left hand on the door knob. He took his mobile phone from the night stand to check the time, 3 am. Sherlock opened the door, went into the corridor and closed it behind himself. He walked over to the window in the living room and looked out over Baker Street that lay quiet and abandoned, rain drizzling.  
He heard the bedroom door open and John's footsteps approaching. John stopped right behind him, his left arm coming around his waist and pressed a soft kiss to his right shoulder. Sherlock exhaled slowly.  
“Tea?” John asked. Sherlock nodded. John pressed another kiss to his shoulder and padded to the kitchen to put the kettle on.  
Sherlock remained standing at the window and tried to arrange his thoughts. Ever since he came back from eastern Europe he has had nightmares. Quite frequently at times, but less often lately. But never something like this. He had tried to suppress the incident in the morgue since the day it had happened but now it came back to him full force apparently. He shook his head to clear his thoughts and padded over to his armchair, sat down and stared.

He noticed John's sideglances from the kitchen while he was preparing the tea. John came over, placed Sherlock's cup on the side table and sat down in his own chair. John fumbled with his teacup, he seemed nervous. They sat there in silence for a while until John took a deep breath and exhaled slowly.  
“Erm, Sherlock?”  
“Hm?”  
“Can I ask you something?” he asked quietly.  
”Yes,” Sherlock said, his voice rough.  
“During your nightmare,” he trailed off, shuffling his feet, then continued carefully, “you were screaming my name.”  
“Yes.”  
“But, erm... It sounded as if you were screaming in horror, as if you were afraid of me, terrified.”  
Sherlock remained silent. He stared to a point somewhere behind John's right shoulder not saying anything for a long time.  
“Please talk to me,” John pleaded silently. 

After what felt like an eternity Sherlock's eyes focused on him. He stared into John's eyes before he looked down to his lap, both arms on the sides of his armchair and started talking so silently John had to listen very closely to hear him.  
“The big scars on my back,” Sherlock started and trailed off. John just looked at him, teacup in hand and waited.  
“I got them in Serbia. I was captured and chained to a wall in a room that looked like a dungeon. I was tortured by a guy that looked like a prize boxer. He had an iron bar," Sherlock inhaled and let out a shuddering breath.  
“Tonight in my dream, I was back at this place,” he trailed off again. John didn't dare to speak and just waited for Sherlock to be ready to continue.  
“But when I looked up it wasn't this guy who beat me up,” he looked carefully up through his lashes and met John's eyes.  
“It was me,” John finished for him with tears in his eyes. Sherlock nodded slowly.  
“And I wasn't in this dungeon anymore, I was on the floor of the morgue.”  
John put his teacup down on the side table and slipped from his chair, kneeling down between Sherlock's legs and bent his head until his forehead touched Sherlock's belly and he brought his arms around his waist. "I'm so sorry,” he whispered, tears running down his cheeks. 

Sherlock remained still while John was crying in his lap, his hands clenching around the armrests. Then he brought his arms around John's shoulders, one hand in his hair and pressed a kiss on top of his head. They remained in this position until John stopped crying, then Sherlock stood up and pulled John with him.   
“Come on up," he said softly, “this must be murder on your knees.” Sherlock made motion in the direction of the sofa with his head and John went over.

Sherlock grabbed their cups and busied himself with making tea while John watched him from the sofa, his hands in his lap.  
Sherlock brought their tea over to the sofa, put the cups down on the coffe table and sat down beside John so that their bodies were touching from shoulders to ankle. He took John's left hand and brought it up to his lips, pressing a soft kiss on the knuckles.  
“Sherlock?”  
“Hmm?”  
“Please tell me what happened to you during those two years," he pleaded silently. Sherlock glanced at him sideways.   
“It's over John, it doesn't matter anymore.”  
“After what happened tonight it looks like it does," John turned his head and looked at him with a wary expression. Sherlock was silent for a long time and then made a decision.   
“Okay.”

He took a sip from his tea, inhaled deeply and started talking. He told John everything he found necessary, he answered every question John asked honestly. He told him about the first weeks where it was kind of adventurous, even fun at times. He told him how it stopped to be fun quite soon. He told him about never ending days where he had to be on the watch constantly. He told him about lonely nights in shabby hotels or under bridges. He told him about fights and gun shots, about running away and hiding, about venturing into the lion's den. About killing people and about hardly surviving. He told him about every injury he incured and every scar on his body. He told him about all the times he wished John was with him and how often he wished he could just go back to London and resume their old life in Baker Street.

By the time he finished Sherlock was completely drained, his voice rough from talking and crying. The sun stood high on the winter sky outside, their tea gone cold long ago. They were sitting sideways on the sofa, John's back against the armrest, Sherlock in his lap, leaning his back against John's front, his head on John's left shoulder. John's arms around his waist, his hands stroking Sherlock's belly, his head nuzzled beside Sherlock's, pressing a soft kiss into the skin of his neck every now and then. 

Neither said a word for a long time afterwards until John said very quiet.   
“You endured all that to save my life”.  
“I would have done anything to keep you save, John”.  
John shook his head, breathing slowly, trying to process what he had just heard.  
“Thank you Sherlock," he pressed a kiss to Sherlock's right ear. “For everything you've ever done for me and for trusting me to tell me all of this.”  
Sherlock turned his head to the side and kissed him softly.  
Sherlock looked terribly exhausted, so John shoved him down until they lay flat on the sofa, Sherlock half on top of him, his head on John's chest, one leg and arm thrown across John's body. John got the blanket from the back of the sofa and draped it over Sherlock's body. He held him as tight as he could m.   
"Sleep now, I'll be here when you wake up," John whispered.  
John could hear Sherlock's breathing evening out slowly, his heartbeat calming down and he drifted off to sleep. John stayed awake for a long time and thought about all that Sherlock had told him and cried silently, until he wasn't able to keep his eyes open any longer and fell asleep.


	8. Chapter 8

When Sherlock woke up some time later it seemed to be early afternoon. He was lying on top of John, his head on his chest, John's heartbeat steady under his cheek. He still felt awfully exhausted and much too warm and he had a bad headache. He raised his head and looked up at John who seemed to be dead asleep. He decided to go and take a shower and got up as carefully as possible. When he was on his feet he swayed a little, feeling dizzy. He started walking to the bathroom when he heard John stirring behind him.  
“Hey, you alright?” John's voice was rough from sleep.  
Sherlock turned around. “Go back to sleep, I'll just have a shower and some painkillers”.  
John rubbed his face. “Headache?”  
“Hmm," Sherlock answered and pressed a hand to his forehead. John sat up and looked a bit sheepish. “Can I join you in the shower?”  
Sherlock looked down to his bare feet before he answered. “Okay."  
John got up and followed him down the corridor into the bathroom. Sherlock rummaged around the cabinet above the sink until he found some painkillers. He took two pills with a sip of water and leaned over the sink, his hands braced on either side. John turned on the shower and pulled off his T-shirt. When he saw Sherlock bent down he came over and slipped his arms around his waist.  
“Are you okay?” he asked, pressing his cheek against his shoulder. Sherlock sighed, rubbing his eyes with one hand. “Just not feeling very well.”  
“Let's have a shower, I take care of you.”

They undressed and John helped Sherlock into the shower, closing the curtain behind them.  
“Turn around,” he said and Sherlock did. John wrapped his arms around him and made sure that he was under the spray completely while Sherlock leaned his weight against him. He took the shampoo and massaged it into his curls, then made him rinse and continued massaging Sherlock's skull. He massaged carefully at his temples, then across the top of his skull down to the nape of his neck. He massaged there carefully but thoroughly until Sherlock was limp in his arms.  
“Turn around,” John whispered again and when Sherlock was facing the wall he took the body wash and started massaging his shoulders and lower back. Sherlock braced his hands against the wall, his breathing deep and calm. When John was satisfied with the massage he washed Sherlock's body and himself afterwards and switched off the water. He helped Sherlock out of the shower, let him sit down on the edge of the bathtub and towled him off carefully. When John was finished he dried himself off and they got dressed in their pyjamas again. Sherlock sat back down, still feeling a bit dizzy and looked up. “Thank you John,” he smiled.  
John stepped into the space between his legs, shoved his hands into his curls at the sides of his head, cradling his skull and bent down to kiss him. "Feeling any better?” he asked quietly.  
“A bit," Sherlock leaned his head against John's chest and put his arms around his waist. John pulled him close and pressed a kiss onto the top of his head. Sherlock rewarded him with a content sigh, when John's stomach rumbled angrily. Sherlock chuckled against his chest. “Sounds like I forgot to feed you this morning.”  
John giggled. “Come on, I'll make us something.”  
Sherlock looked up into his eyes and John kissed him softly.  
They went to the kitchen together and John checked the contents of the fridge. There wasn't much to work with so he decided on scrambled eggs with toast. Sherlock leaned against the counter, rubbing his temples with both hands.  
“Lay down on the sofa, I call you when the food is ready.”  
Sherlock nodded and did as he was told. He lay down on his side and watched John, who glanced over at him from time to time. 

When John was done with the cooking he came over to get Sherlock, but he seemed to be fast asleep, his breathing deep and calm. John decided to let him rest, he could make him eat later when he was hopefully feeling better.  
John ate his meal in the kitchen and settled down in his armchair with the newspaper afterwards. When he was done reading he went to the bedroom to get dressed in jeans and a plain black shirt. He went back to the living room and got his laptop out, answered some e-mails and surfed the internet for a bit until he heard Sherlock shifting on the sofa. John put his laptop down and went over to sit on the coffee table right in front of him.

Sherlock opened his eyes slowly. "What time is it?”  
“About six.”  
“Hmm, thought you wanted to prepare some food," Sherlock yawned.  
“I did, but you were fast asleep when I was ready, so I thought I'd better let you rest. Feeling any better?”  
“Mm, yes.”  
John sweeped a curl from Sherlock's forehead and gave him a small smile. “Are you hungry?”  
“Not really.”  
“We could go for a walk and get some takeaway on the way back, if you'd like.”  
Sherlock thought about that for a second. "Why not.” He got up from the sofa. "Just going to get dressed and need the bathroom," he said, not meeting John's eyes.  
“Okay, I'll be here when you're ready,” John said carefully. 

When Sherlock came out of his room twenty minutes later John was sitting on the sofa, fidgeting with one of the pillows. He looked up when he heard Sherlock entering the room. "Ready?”  
Sherlock nodded and went through the door to put his scarf and coat on. John followed him to do the same and together they went down the stairs.  
They walked to Regent's Park side by side, not looking at each other, neither saying a word, as if they were both anxious to say something wrong. They didn't hold hands this time although Sherlock wanted to. But after his nightmare last night and stripping his soul afterwards he didn't know how to reach out to John to get back to where they were last night. He was afraid that he said too much, that John would look at him different now, so he rather said nothing at all. John seemed to be nervous, too since he acted pretty much the same way. 

They stopped in front of a little lake in the park and stared over the water for a long time until they decided to get takeaway from the Chinese place right around the corner at Baker Street.  
Back at the flat they still hadn't talked about anything. They sat at the kitchen table, having their dinner right out of the boxes and once they were finished John suggested to go to bed early.  
John went to the bathroom first while Sherlock cleared the kitchen. When Sherlock came out of the bathroom afterwards, dressed in his pyjamas, John was sitting in their bed against the headboard in a T-shirt, sheets across his legs, looking terribly unsure. Sherlock sat down beside him, drawing the sheets up over his belly, his legs stretched out in front of him, hands in his lap on top of the covers. He wasn't looking at John when he started speaking. "You want to talk.”  
John cleared his throat, “you are so terribly quiet since what happened last night.”  
“John, I...," Sherlock trailed off.  
John moved closer so that their sides were touching and dropped a kiss on his shoulder. “I miss what we had before last night,” he whispered.  
“Me too.”

John inhaled deeply.   
"Do you regret that you told me all of this?”  
Sherlock thought about that for a minute.  
“No. It's just... I thought that all of this was in the past, I thought it wouldn't affect me anymore... especially now that I have what I always wanted... and I don't understand why my brain associates you with what happened to me in Serbia... I don't know what to make of that." Sherlock sighed.  
“Because I've hurt you, just like that guy,” John said very quiet.  
“But that's not the same! In Serbia I was tortured, you've just hit me!” Sherlock grabbed his hair in frustration.  
“No, I've not just hit you, I've beaten you to a pulp, I was out of my mind and just didn't stop,” he said in a rough voice.  
“And you apologised and I forgave you, so what's the point? I just want to forget all of that!”  
“Sherlock, what you've been through is nothing that you can just delete and go on with your life. You've been on the run for two years, you've been tortured and what not... And you've been betrayed by the one person you trust the most, the one person who never should have done that.”  
“John... ”  
“Sherlock those things affect you because you are a human being. You are not a sociopath who doesn't care about anything or anyone. You are the exact opposite. You care so much for the people you love that you would do anything to keep them save.”  
“Not people John, there's only one person that ever mattered to me," Sherlock whispered.

John closed his eyes and let out a shuddering breath. He moved over in front of Sherlock and straddled his legs. He pulled him close and whispered into his ear.   
“You are the most amazing man I've ever met. I promise you that I will never let you down again and that I will do anything to make you happy. I've never loved anyone as much as I love you Sherlock. And I'm so sorry for everything you've been through and everything I've put you through. I will never let something like that happen to you ever again. I promise.” With that he drew back and pulled Sherlock into a passionate kiss.   
“Let me show you how much I love you... Please," he whispered against Sherlock's mouth.  
Sherlock grabbed John's T-shirt, pulled it over his head and threw it away and John did the same with Sherlock's. Sherlock pulled him into his arms until he could feel John's bare skin against his own and they kissed and kissed until they were breathing hard. When John settled down in his lap he could feel his erection against his own. They both moaned at the touch. Sherlock was clinging to John like a drowning man and John tried to hold him as close as he could. They kissed passionately, all lips and tongues and teeth, their hands roaming over each other's bodies.

John drew back a little to take the speed out, he wanted to make this time special for Sherlock. He kissed him again very softly and pressed him back into the matress. They shifted until they were lying flat on top of each other, breathing hard.   
“John," Sherlock didn't even know what he was asking for.  
John stared at him and the affection in his eyes overwhelmed Sherlock. John kissed his forehead, his nose, his cheeks, along his jawline back to each ear and down his neck. He went on along his collar bones and further down his chest. He caressed both nipples with his tongue and fingers, kissed and sucked them, then kissed every inch of Sherlock's belly until Sherlock was panting and wriggling under his touch. When John reached the soft line of hair that went from Sherlock's belly button down to his crotch he hooked too fingers into the waistband and pulled pyjama trousers and pants down slowly until Sherlock's cock sprang free. The glans was already exposed and wet with precome and when John licked a long stripe from the base to the tip Sherlock moaned deeply and arched his back. John took as much time as possible to lick, suck and caress Sherlock's cock and balls while teasing his perineum and entrance with one finger until Sherlock reached into the bedside drawer and tossed the bottle of lube at him. John took it with a grin and used it to prepare Sherlock thoroughly, first with one finger until all three went in easily.  
When he brushed Sherlock's prostate for the first time Sherlock cried out and arched up from the bed. “Jesus John, do that again!” he panted. John complied willingly and teased him with his fingers, mouth and tongue until he was a shivering bundle.  
When Sherlock couldn't wait any longer he pulled John up over his body into a messy kiss.  
He stared into John's eyes.   
“Please John,"  
John knew exactly what he was asking for. He slicked his cock and started pushing into him carefully. He made love to Sherlock as slow and tender as he was capable of and tried to reach Sherlock's prostate with every thrust. Sherlock moaned and shivered under him until he couldn't bear it any longer.   
“Faster... please.... John.”  
John increased the speed and it took Sherlock just a few more brushes against his prostate until he came untouched between their bellies with a long moan, his hands clenching in the sheets beside him.  
The feeling of Sherlock's clenching, wet warmth around his cock was enough to send John over the edge too and he came with a loud groan inside his body.  
He didn't take much time to come down from his orgasm and took care of Sherlock instead. He kissed every inch of skin he could reach softly, stroked his hair, neck and face with both hands and whispered sweet nothings into his ear until Sherlock was breathing calm and steady under him. When he seemed to get tired John got up, got a flannel and cleaned the both of them. When he came back from the bathroom Sherlock was curled on his side under the sheets, eyes closed, breath steady. John slipped under the covers behind him, slipped his left arm around his waist and pulled him close. He nuzzled his face into the nape of Sherlock's neck and fell asleep shortly after him.


	9. Lazy Sunday

Sherlock woke up on sunday morning when the winter sun was already high up in the sky. He was on his side, facing the door. John was wrapped around him, his arm around his waist, hand on his chest, their legs tangled and the rest of him was pressed against his back side, including his morning erection. Sherlock's own twitched happily when he thought about their love making last night. John had been so careful and tender, making sure that Sherlock enjoyed every second of it. And even when they were finished John never stopped kissing and caressing him until he fell asleep, as if he was the most precious thing in the world. The last thing he remembers was John cleaning him up carefully and wrapping himself around him again afterwards.  
Sherlock had to swallow back some tears that were prickling behind his eyes. He never thought that there would ever be a chance of them being together. And now that they were it was so much better than he had ever imagined. He always knew that John was a caretaker, but how he treated Sherlock, how careful and affectionate he was with him, was simply overwhelming.  
He always thought that romantic entanglement was something he simply didn't need, but now that he had it he never wanted to lose it ever again. 

He felt John stirring behind him. His arm tightened around his chest and he nuzzled into the hair at the nape of his neck.  
“You're thinking awfully loud,” John mumbled into his hair.  
Sherlock placed his hand on top of John's and squeezed.  
“You alright?” John whispered.  
“Yes,” Sherlock answered, his voice a bit rough.  
“What are you thinking about?”  
“Us."  
“Why does that make you sad?” John raised his head and tried to look him in the eye.  
Sherlock tried to hide his face in his pillow. “It doesn't.”  
John turned his face back around, so that Sherlock had to look at him. “But you're fighting back tears.”  
“Yes, but not because I'm sad," Sherlock tried to hide his face again but John didn't let him. 

John's smile started small around the corners of his mouth but got bigger every second until his eyes were shining in the most beautiful blue Sherlock had ever seen.   
“I love you too.” John pressed a kiss onto Sherlock's lips and tightened the grip around his chest. Sherlock squeezed his hand hard. John kissed along his cheek to his temple and down to the soft spot right below his ear, that made Sherlock moan every time. John pressed his body against Sherlock's as close as possible and Sherlock felt John's erection press into the crack of his arse. They moved against each other slowly, John kissing every bit of skin he could reach. Sherlock tried to pull him as close as possible. John was rubbing his erection against Sherlock's arse until he gasped.   
“Lube John, please."  
John got the bottle out of the drawer, slicked his cock and Sherlock's entrance. He could slip two fingers in already, Sherlock still open from last night and it didn't take long until a third slipped in easily. Sherlock moaned silently under his touch, pressing his body back against John's. John took hold of his own cock and pushed into Sherlock's body slowly, both men moaning at the sensation. When he was fully seated he slipped his arm around Sherlock's chest again and held him tight. He kissed his ear and neck from behind and started a slow rhythm. His other hand wandered into Sherlock's hair and stroked and pulled at his curls, which Sherlock loved.  
Sherlock was meeting his every move with slow pushes and they started breathing hard. John put some lube on his left hand, warmed it up and took hold of Sherlock's cock. He started stroking him in a slow rhythm, Sherlock moaning softly in front of him. Every time he reached the top he let his thumb trace the slit that was already wet with precome and Sherlock let out a little gasp.  
They found a lazy rhythm together, John pushing into Sherlock and stroking his cock, Sherlock pushing back against John's body and forwards into John's hand. John was kissing every spot on Sherlock's head and shoulder he could reach and Sherlock grasped the sheets in front of him. They thrusted together until they both reached their climax, Sherlock coming all over John's hand and the sheets in front of him, John pumping into Sherlock's warm body while panting his name into his ear.

When they both relaxed afterwards Sherlock turned around in John's arms and snuggled close. They were kissing lazily and caressing each other for a long time.  
“John?”  
“Hmm?”  
“I wish every sunday morning could be like that from now on.”  
“Hmm, that's entirely up to us, love.”  
Sherlock went completely still in John's arms. John drew back a little to look at Sherlock. “What's wrong?”  
“You... you called me love," Sherlock said, a bit baffled, brows drawn together.  
“Yep,” John nuzzled into his neck and gave him a loud smooch, “that's what you are now. Get used to it.” Sherlock could feel John's grin against his neck and thought about that for a minute. “I like it.”  
“Good.”  
Sherlock nestled against John's body again. “Do I have to find an endearement for you too?”  
“Just if you want to,” John mumbled while occupied with tracing patterns on Sherlock's neck with his tongue. Sherlock thought about that too.  
“I think I'll stay with John for the time being.”  
“John is totally fine with me.” And John gave him another smooch, on the nose this time.  
“John?”  
“Hmm?”  
“You are ridiculous.”  
“I know, love,” John grinned and kissed him. 

They finally got up and prepared breakfast together. They had toast with jam and tea at the kitchen table. Their bare feet were tangled under the table, toes stroking each others ankles and calves. They were sharing the sunday paper that Mrs Hudson must have brought upstairs at some point. Sherlock barely remembered the sound of a closing door while John was thrusting into him earlier and couldn't stop a grin.  
“What?” John asked.  
“Oh, nothing,” Sherlock hid his grin behind the newspaper and John let it go. 

After breakfast they went over to the sofa with fresh tea, snogging lazily, drifting in and out of sleep until midafternoon, John laying on his back, Sherlock half on top of him, when they heard the doorbell ringing.  
“Oh god no," Sherlock huffed.  
John looked at him puzzled.  
“It's Mycroft,” Sherlock explained.  
“How do you know?”  
“Please,” Sherlock gave him his ‘you're an idiot’ look.  
Mrs Hudson went to answer the door.  
“Should we get up into a more decent position, you know to... not scare him away?” John asked grinning.  
“What for, it's just my brother visiting on a sunday afternoon,utterly uninvited,“ Sherlock huffed. ”... Unless this is embarrassing to you...” Sherlock said sheepishly, trying to get up already. John pulled him back down.  
“Embarrassing? I'm in my own flat, on my own sofa with the world's only consulting detective and most handsome man in London wrapped around me. I have no idea why this should be embarrassing for me.” John gave him a peck on the nose and grinned. Sherlock smiled and lay back down on top of him. 

When Mycroft reached the top of the stairs he called through the door. “I hope you two are decent."  
“Come in and find out.” Sherlock called back.  
Mycroft opened the door to the living room and rolled his eyes at the sight of the both of them laying on top of each other on the sofa.  
“You brought cake,” Sherlock said, a bit baffled.  
“Ah, I see why you see yourself as the genius," Mycroft put the box with the cake down on the coffee table and leaned his umbrella against a chair.  
“Why would you bring cake?” Sherlock sat up, brows furrowed.  
“Well, from what I can see, there is a reason to celebrate, isn't there?”  
“Celebrate?” Sherlock still didn't understand.  
“He means us,” John sat up with a grin, putting his arm around Sherlock's waist. “Thanks for the cake Mycroft”.  
Mycroft nodded at John. "Dr. Watson.”  
“Us?”  
“Apparently we were all wrong. Dr. Watson seems to be the genius in this relationship,” Mycroft replied with a sardonical grin. “Oh and best wishes from mummy and daddy, they are over the moon and expect the two of you for tea in the near future.”  
“You told our parents that I'm in a relationship with John?”  
“Well, since it took you more than seven years to confess your love to Dr. Watson I wanted to make mummy and daddy happy before they hop into their graves. Who knows if they have another seven years left,” Mycroft said smugly. Sherlock opened his mouth for a reply but John was quicker.  
“Girls, enough of that, there's cake.” He went to the kitchen to make tea. Sherlock followed right behind to get plates and cake forks. 

They sat together with tea and cake in the living room.  
“Oh by the way, I have a case for you,” Mycroft said. “If you're not too busy snogging your boyfriend tomorrow I would appreciate it if you could come to my office and take a look.”  
“I'll see if I can find a time window for you," Sherlock replied.  
They finished their cake and Mycroft got up and took his umbrella. On his way out he turned back around. “Oh, I forgot. Congratulations little brother. Excellent choice of companion.” This time Mycroft's smile was sincere and he closed the door on his way out. 

Sherlock sat there afterwards saying nothing for a long time. John just waited until he was back from wherever he was in his mindpalace.  
“Boyfriends,” Sherlock finally said “is that what we are now?” He looked over to John, who was still sitting beside him on the sofa.  
“I suppose that's the term.”  
Sherlock said nothing, just looked at him.  
“We can find another if you don't like it,” John offered.  
“I will have to think about that”.  
“Hmm, could you do that another time?”  
“Why?” Sherlock furrowed his brows again.  
“Because I would rather spend the rest of the day snogging you senseless," John grinned. And that's exactly what he did. 

They ordered Indian takeaway for dinner and settled back down on the sofa with a movie and a glass of red wine afterwards. They were sitting side by side, one hand intertwined, feet on the coffee table in front of them. Sherlock was tracing little patterns into the skin of John's hand while he was analysing the movie and shouting at the screen every now and then when the protagonists did something exceptionally stupid.  
John just sat beside him and smiled at him. He didn't really pay attention to the movie and listened to whatever Sherlock had to say instead. When he couldn't restrain himself any longer he turned Sherlock's head around and kissed him deeply.  
“What was that for?” Sherlock smiled.  
“Just felt the need to kiss you,” he whispered and kissed him again.  
“John?” Sherlock mumbled against his mouth.  
“Yes love?”  
“The honeymoon is over now, isn't it?”  
“What do you mean?” John drew back a little, looking puzzled.  
“I mean... those last three days have been like a bubble, just you and me.... Tomorrow real life takes us back, you have to work at the clinic, I'll probably have a case.…”  
“And when we are both back home in the evening we continue exactly where we finish tonight,” John kissed him.  
“No, I mean... ”  
“I know what you mean, love. But trust me, we won't have as much time together as we had this weekend, but that doesn't mean that the butterflies and fluffy pink clouds will disappear tomorrow.”  
“Fluffy pink clouds? Really John?” Sherlock gave him a look and John just giggled.  
“You could send me some dirty texts while I'm at work that make me blush in front of my patients,” John grinned.  
Sherlock gave him a look again. "Hmm, I might just do that,” he grinned wickedly.  
“Looking forward to it. Now stop worrying and come to bed with me, I might have an idea or two to bring this honeymoon to a shattering climax."  
Sherlock gave him another look and they burst into laughter. When they got their breath back they went to the bedroom hand in hand and enjoyed their last night together before real life got them back.  
Neither man got much sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this was it, the last chapter of my very first fanfic.  
> I hope you liked reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.  
> Thank you for the lovely comments and kudos! They kept me going!


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